


Silver Mask, Red Hair

by ConvenientAlias



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 00:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6682348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik makes a bet with Raven: Three nights, three masquerade balls. If he can find her and dance with her at one of them, then she will tell him what her mutation is, and maybe give his suit a chance. All well and good, but Raven doesn't play fair. Now it's the third night, and all Erik knows is that he has to find the woman with a silver mask and red hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Mask, Red Hair

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> "Everyone can hide their face in a masquerade --but we can never hide who we truly are." // (bonus points for elegant attire and pretty dresses, and masks and venice carnivals)

There must have been a thousand or more masked women in the ballroom. Erik Lensherr, who had faced the same spectacle for the last two nights with no waning of confidence (of course he could find her, she was Raven, it would be easy) was beginning to get worried. And beginning to get annoyed at Charles, who was being as unhelpful as could possibly be imagined, despite having said on multiple occasions that he really did think Erik and Raven would be a lovely couple.

Silver mask, he reminded himself. Raven had said a silver mask tonight, and Charles had whispered, before he left, "Redhead." And there weren't that many women in silver masks here, it being more the fashion to wear brightly colored masks at a masquerade in this society than metallic ones. Not that many redheads either, although Erik had to wonder why Raven was so invested in avoiding him as to die her own hair such a garish color. Well, she could do what she liked.

Redhead, silver mask. He should never have taken the bet in the first place. But he had always been up for a challenge, and it was too late to back out now.

///...///...///

He had avoided meeting Raven for some time, actually. Nothing against the girl-after all, he didn't even know her back then. But Charles kept on bringing it up every time they spoke, especially when they spoke about women. Which, considering they were two of the most eligible bachelor mutants in Genosha and took advantage of this fact as much as possible, was quite often.

"I don't see why you can't come over to my house in the country this weekend," Charles said one night when they were smoking after a so-so party, barely even drunk. "It's a lovely place. A manor." He pronounced the last word with not a little pride, and Erik snorted. What a showoff.

"You just want to shove your ward on me," he said. "I'm not interested."

"My sister, not my ward."

"You weren't born of the same mother and she was never officially adopted," Erik said. "Ward."

Charles shook his head but didn't protest. At that part, at least. "I'm not shoving her on you. I just think you two ought to meet each other. Her being my sister, you being my best friend..."

"You never mention me being your best friend except when you're trying to manipulate me," Erik said. "No go."

Honestly, he had no idea why Charles would try to match make him with Charles' own sister. Charles of all people should have known how uninterested he was in such things as marriage or commitment or settling down. And surely no one would try to pair his sister with a rake.

But Charles was trying, and he was trying far too hard. It was enough that the seventeenth time Charles asked him to visit his house in the country for the weekend, Erik yelled, "Fine!"

They were in a classy drawing room at the time, surrounded by young ladies fluttering their fans and young gentlemen taking notes on their fashion sense. There was a moment of shocked silence as both the ladies and the gentlemen tried to fathom that Erik Lensherr, famously such a cool and composed customer, had just bellowed at his best friend at the top of his lungs over nothing more than a polite request.

Erik scowled, at them and then at Charles for causing the scene in the first place.

Charles was beaming. "Well, my friend, I really do think you will quite enjoy myself. It should be a lovely weekend." Then, leaning in, he murmured to Erik, "Just remember that if you pretend you never agreed to come later on, I have witnesses."

Almost twenty of them, all of them still gaping at Erik's rudeness.

Such a beginning could only bode well.

///...///...///

Silver mask, redhead. Hard to catch a glimpse of every single mask on a swirling dance floor, but Erik was attempting it. Couldn't Charles have told Erik something more obvious, like the color of her gown? Although the redhead hint was perhaps more useful-he would never have guessed she would be the type to dye her hair over a wager.

Usually he would have appreciated the music. Usually he would have been appreciating it in the company of a beautiful woman as well—or at least, a shapely woman who was most likely beautiful underneath a well crafted mask, a woman who could dance well.

Since meeting Raven, though, he found he did not enjoy the company of other women as easily. He could not even dream of dancing with another woman through the night.

It was not that he was in love, exactly. Raven was attractive, certainly. Rippling blond hair, plump lips and sharp eyes. And there were many things about her worthy of love. He would admit to a certain interest in her as well—clever, lovely, and independent, she was just his type, as Charles had always said she would be. And she could handle herself, no doubt why Charles had not hesitated to introduce them out of fear for her purity. All good traits in a woman, all traits he looked for, but there were many women like that. Moira, for example, Charles’ most recent interest. And certainly Erik had no interest in Moira.

No, there was something more than that to Raven. And while he would admit to being attracted to her wit, her strength, her ability to put Charles in his place (God knew he needed it) her ultimate appeal was something rather different. The thrill of mystery, intrigue, perhaps even forbidden fruits. Not that anyone had forbidden Erik to chase Raven—Charles was altogether approving and high society thought it was about time he settled down with someone—but every time he felt like he was getting closer to Raven, she would put him off, push him away. She had made herself forbidden of her own volition, and her resistance to his attempts to romance her, even befriend her, both frustrated him and urged him on.

Not that he didn’t know how to take no for an answer. But Raven never exactly said no. She just didn’t exactly welcome Erik either. One moment she would be flirting with him, leaning towards him, touching him lightly every so often, even, occasionally, kissing him. The next moment she would be leaning away from him, pain in her eyes, and he could never figure out what had put that pain there.

///…///…///

“I wish you’d never introduced me to your sister,” Erik had groaned one night when Raven had retreated to her room for the night.

“So you admit she is my sister,” Charles said smugly. “Not my ward. My sister.” He sipped a mug of tea. For an eligible bachelor, he could act a lot like an old woman sometimes.

“She gives me a headache,” Erik growled. “Just tonight, we were out for a walk in the garden, and we were talking about the position of mutants in our society. I just mentioned that female mutants often had it harder than male mutants and she just…left.” He shook his head. “I know you say my political talk is dull, but…”

“I doubt she finds it dull,” Charles said. “More likely she finds it painful.” He took another sip of tea, this one absolutely meditative. Erik stared at him.

When it became obvious he wasn’t going to continue, Erik said, “But why?”

Charles blinked. “Well, Erik, if you’re talking to a female mutant about the plight of female mutants, obviously there’s going to be some—”

“She’s a mutant?”

Charles paused. “Did you not know that?”

“No!” Erik wasn’t sure whether to scowl at Charles’ thoughtful expression and scream about important things that really should have been mentioned by now or gape at Raven suddenly being a mutant. What kind of mutant even was she? Nothing visible, of course, but that meant nothing. Erik’s own mutation was unnoticeable until he wanted it to be, and he was considered one of the more powerful mutants in Genosha.

“Oh,” Charles said. He put the cup of tea down on the table, wiping his already clean mouth with a handkerchief. “Well, she is. One reason I wanted you to meet her. You do love meeting new mutants.”

“What is she?” Erik asked.

“I don’t suppose it’s for me to tell you,” Charles said, crossing his arms. “She’d be mad. You’d better ask her yourself.”

Erik nearly wrung Charles’ neck (why the grapevine said they were such a good pair of friends, he had no clue sometimes) but held himself back with considerable effort. Charles had a point. Most mutants hated when people outed them before they outed themselves. It was best to go to Raven in person.

Even if getting information from Raven was like pulling hen’s teeth.

///…///…///

He was so distracted by memories that he almost missed her. Silver mask, red hair. Right in front of him, in a white dress with gold and silver embroidery and ribbons. About Raven’s height (with the shoes ladies wore these days, it was best not to pay too much attention to that anyway), and Raven’s build, and dancing with, of all people, Hank!

And yes, it was obviously Hank. You could hide a lot with a costume for a masquerade—the redheaded woman’s costume, while it let her hair hang, used gloves and a high neck to avoid showing even an inch of skin—and hypothetically Hank could have gone to the dance as nothing more than an abnormally muscular man. But lately he had gotten a confidence boost and had stopped being so big on hiding what he called “his deformity”, and he was putting little effort into it today. The half mask did nothing to hide the fact that his face was covered in blue fur.

Of course, it could be anyone dancing with Hank. The host of this particular dance welcomed mutants, and in mutant society Hank was well known. But redhead, silver mask and dancing with Raven’s best friend?

It was Raven.

He cut through the crowd with purpose now, pushing lightly at men’s metal buttons and women’s brooches with his power when they wouldn’t move aside, and arrived at Hank and the woman’s side in instants. He grabbed Hank by the shoulder. “May I cut in?”

Hank hesitated. It was the middle of a waltz, and he was clearly enjoying himself with the lady (with Raven).

“It’s fine, Hank,” the woman said in Raven’s voice. “We can dance again later.”

Hank bowed and handed the woman off to Erik, and Erik pulled her into the waltz position, his hand light but firm on her waist, his other hand holding her gloved hand up high towards the chandeliers.

“I’ve been looking for you for three nights,” he muttered.

The woman did not respond, but simply allowed him to pull her into the dance.

///…///…///

After Charles refused to reveal anything further about Raven’s mysterious mutation, Erik had taken his advice and gone straight to the source. Raven, however, had not been terribly forthcoming.

“I promise I won’t judge you,” he told her. “I’ve seen the full gamut of mutations, you know. Invisibility, strength, speed, shooting fire out of your eyes, flying, screaming so loud it enables you to fly, telepathy…” He trailed off on the last one. Telepathy was one of the least accepted of all mutations, despite being very practical and not at all messy.

She stared at him coolly for a long minute. He didn’t know how she had learned to stare like that—it was a talent her brother certainly lacked. Her eyes were perhaps better suited for it, smaller and more intense and dark. She said, “Activists like you understand every right except the right to privacy.”

He sighed in frustration. “Look, Raven. I know that you’ve been hurt by people judging your mutation in the past.” He didn’t know, but he figured it was probably a decent guess. “Your brother must have told you about me. And you know me well enough by now. I won’t do that to you.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I just want to know more about you.”

They both stood there in silence for a moment, having a staring contest. Erik blinked first. He looked away, and was about to say that Raven could keep her secrets if she liked, when Raven interrupted. “There’s a masquerade ball in a couple weeks.”

“I believe so,” Erik said. “A series of three in three nights.”

Raven said, “Charles will be taking me as his ward. Of course, I’ll be in full costume, as will everyone.”

“As will I,” Erik said. Had they changed the topic for good? Well, he had been willing to move on, but being cut off so abruptly was thoroughly unsatisfying. “Perhaps I will see you there.”

Raven crossed her arms. “I’ll give you a challenge.”

“Yes?” Erik was thoroughly lost.

“You’ll have all three nights. If you can find me, dance with me and identify me by the end of those three nights, I’ll tell you about my mutation,” she said. “And we’ll see where we go from there.”

Slowly, Erik nodded. “Well then. I will accept your challenge.” Raven wasn’t all that unique looking, but she had recognizable posture and mannerisms, and Erik was not so bad at identifying people, mask or no. “And I will see you on the dance floor.”

She smiled suddenly, and her smile was absolutely wicked. “We’ll see about that.”

///…///…///

Third night, but he’d found her. Silver mask and red hair, and she moved so much like Raven too, even though he’d never danced with Raven before tonight. She was a good dancer, no doubt taught by the ever adept Charles. It didn’t surprise him.

He twirled her this way and that, watching her skirt swirl around her, watching the light from the chandeliers sparkle in her metallic ribbons and inscrutable mask. And her eyes were equally focused on him (as far as he could tell by the direction of her mask), and he smirked. He knew he was a sight as well as she, personally tailored suit and golden cravat and fresh cut rose boutonniere pinned to his left lapel. He would have disappointed the grapevine otherwise, always anxious to hear more about the fashion choices of the ever so stylish Erik Lensherr.

He expected her to be out of breath by the end of the song, but she was still as ready to continue as ever. As was he, but the next song was slow. He rocked her slow, back and forth, step and step, slowly directing her steps towards the terrace. And when they had reached the door to the porch, he pulled her outside and they were standing in the fresh air together, still waltzing but now separate from the crowd and cooling off in the night breeze. She still did not step away from him until the song was over.

As the next song started, they had stopped dancing, but neither of them attempted to go inside. They stood barely a foot apart, tension sparking. He wished he could look her in the eyes. He wanted to read her thoughts in them. Did she feel carried away by the stars and the moonlight? Was she glad that he had found her?

He reached for the strings that tied at the back of her mask.

Immediately she brushed his hands away. “You forget yourself, sir.” Raven’s voice, Raven’s voice. “This is a masquerade for a reason.”

Unsure whether she was playing with him or truly did not recognize him yet, he untied his own mask and took it off, letting it dangle in his left hand. He smiled. “I found you, didn’t I? Take your mask off.” He wondered how red hair would complement her tanned skin which looked so good on a blond.

She bowed her head in agreement and slowly unlaced the mask with her gloved hands. He watched as she lowered the mask from her face, mirroring his motion from only a moment ago.

And was left gaping.

Blue skin, yellow cat’s eyes and bumps that made her look like a lizard. He swallowed. It was no wonder this beauty had chosen to dance with someone as unusual looking as Hank. And he was honored to have danced with her as well.

But she was not Raven.

He pinched the top of his nose. Raven would never forgive him. Three nights and he still hadn’t found her. And he hadn’t seen any other woman with red hair and a silver mask inside. It was hopeless. Sighing, he looked up at the mysterious blue skinned woman. “Who are you?”

///…///

The first night he could have sworn he was dancing with Raven. The woman had been blond, Raven’s height and build, and, like this redhead, had moved like Raven as well. Perhaps her voice had been slightly different, but close enough, and he had been so sure.

He had waited until the dance ended to see her take off her mask, waiting to gloat that of course he had found Raven when she had been so certain he would fail. But when he saw the woman take off her mask she had been someone entirely different. Blond, yes. But nothing else similar about that face.

She had winked at Erik, and he had almost flinched, but had recovered on time and winked back. Hadn’t wrecked his reputation as a rake who would dance or fool around with anyone, hadn’t offended a poor woman whose only crime had been to dance with him when he had been looking for a particular blond who was not her.

The next day he had gone to Raven and Charles’ town house and spoken to them both. Raven had made fun of him for failing to find her the first night, and he had rather enjoyed their banter even though he was rather on the losing side.

That night, he had thought he had found her again, had been ever more certain. Another blond of the correct build. He had spoken to her by the concessions table just to make sure, and her voice had sounded so very similar, and her sense of humor had been almost exactly the same. Again, he had waited for the unmasking. Again, he had been wrong. And when he had visited Charles and Rave the next day he had put pride aside and asked for a hint.

Raven had mocked him mercilessly, of course. But she had eventually told him: silver mask. And Charles had told him: red hair. He didn’t think either of them had lied to him, so how come the only woman meeting that description also happened to possess yellow eyes and blue skin?

///…///…///

“You may call me Mystique,” the blue skinned woman said. “And you, stranger?” Before he could answer, she shook her head and said, “Never mind, I could recognize Erik Lensherr a mile away.”

“I’m flattered,” Erik said. “I could swear we’ve never met before.” And a minute ago he could have sworn she was Raven, and her voice still sounded so much the same.

“Consider me a fan,” Mystique said. “You’ve done a lot of work to support mutants, even female mutants whose mutations aren’t exactly pretty.” She stripped her gloves off, revealing blue hands with scale markings like those on her face. Erik stared at them, fascinated. She looked up and their eyes met.

She had a strong gaze, like Raven again.

“I would say your mutation is more than pretty,” he told her, meeting her eyes with a solid gaze of his own. “It’s beautiful. I could not have asked for a lovelier dancing partner.”

Her lips tightened. “You say that, but I saw your face when I took off my mask.”

“Then you saw me astounded at your beauty.”

“I saw you disappointed,” she said. “To find yourself dancing with a beast.”

He shook his head. How had he managed to offend, of all people, a woman like this? He knew her type—beautiful and strong, but with cracks where others had pressed their ugly societal expectations. Exactly the type he tried to support with his work to help mutants become more accepted, in both Genosha and the world outside. He cleared his throat. “It’s not that I found your appearance distasteful. You are very beautiful. It’s just that I was expecting someone else.”

“Oh?”

He sighed. For some reason (perhaps it was the blue skin, perhaps the fact that she had danced with him as easily as if she had known him for years despite only meeting him this evening) he felt he could confide in this stranger. Words poured out of his mouth, describing Raven and their bargain, how badly he wanted to find out more about her, especially her mutation, and how badly he had failed the past couple nights in finding her here as she had wished.

Mystique listened silently. When he had come to the end of his story she shook her head and said, “Don’t worry so much about it. I’m sure she’ll speak to you in her own time.”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s just my pride that hurts.”

“Well, the night was not a complete waste, was it?” she asked lightly. “After all, you met me.”

Their eyes met again. He had been wrong; her stare was even stronger than Raven’s, even more compelling. And then she was right there, right in front of him, pulling his chin forward and she leaned forward as well, lips ready…

He pulled back.

“Too disgusting for you?” she asked him, settling back as well.

“No. But I barely know you,” he said. “And I have to find Raven.”

“She isn’t even your lover.”

He shrugged. “Still.” It felt wrong to pass the time with another lady when this dance was supposed to be about Raven, him and Raven and the tenuous relationship he sometimes thought they had and sometimes thought they didn’t. He gave her a brief wave (Mystique—he would have to look into her at a later date) and headed back towards the ballroom, but she grabbed his sleeve.

“Wait. One last thing.”

“Yes?”

“Did that woman you danced with last night…happen to look like this?”

As she spoke, Mystique’s hand, the hand holding Erik’s sleeve, seemed to ripple, and apricot skin appeared instead of blue. When Erik looked up, the face he saw was indeed that of the lady from the night before.

“And the one you danced with the night before that…did she look like this?”

Another ripple of blue, and it was the woman from the first night of the masquerade. Different facial structure, different eye color, even different hair.

“A shapeshifter,” he said. “But how did you know?”

Mystique smiled an innocent blond smile. “And your friend, your Raven. Did she happen to look like this, Erik?”

And then it was Raven standing in front of him, blond, grinning and smug. And as he stood there dumfounded—How had this woman known how to get every single detail right?—she leaned forward and kissed him after all.

After that, she explained about her mutation as promised, although it took a few minutes to convince Erik it really was her. And then she apologized for not admitting to who she was the night before and the night before that (“but it really was funny, Erik”) and admitted that he had in fact won the bet, three times over. And she told him it made him happy, that someone had been able to find her even beneath a mask, and asked whether he would be able to do the same if she wore a different body.

This led to an entirely different bet a few weeks later, which did not end nearly as well for Erik. But for now, Raven happily returned to the ballroom with him, masked but still blue underneath it, and they danced for the rest of the evening.

**Author's Note:**

> So, a while ago I saw the prompt at the top and decided I might as well try for a fill. Requirements: Masquerades, Raven, and probably Raven/Erik or Raven/Charles for relationship. Honestly I ship Raven/Charles more than Raven/Erik but Erik seemed to suit the idea I had brewing better, so that's how it goes. I feel like this is more of a Cinderella mish-mash than a real masquerade feel but oh well.  
> Originally this was posted in the Raven: First Class community but there was no way to take it off anon, so I've taken it out of that community.  
> Kudos and comments would be much appreciated, particularly any critique-It's my first time writing in this fandom and I'm always a bit wobbly on romance anyway.


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